A/N: For Woman of Letters. Thank you for your kind words and continued support of this story.

Unbetaed, all mistakes are mine.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural.

Chapter Seven: Florence Nightingale

Kissing Sam again had been a rush. I had a feeling it would be different, but nothing could've prepared me for it. As rough and confident as the version of him I first met had been, he was clumsy and tender. I wasn't aware there was a line between the brutal force he used before and being treated like glass.

There is. I learned it in the way Sam held me, exploring my mouth and cradling my body. He didn't act like he was broken or as though he was worried about breaking me. Firm, passionate. Unyielding.

Until we broke apart breathless and he retreated to the bathroom. I must've been asleep when he came out. What I woke up to was haunting. For as long as I live I will never forget the sounds of pain that greeted my ears.

I thought I was dreaming. The room was cold, so chilly I could almost see my breath hanging in the air. It was odd for midsummer. Waking up sticky wouldn't have surprised me, but goosebumps freckling my skin was unusual.

At first I thought it was the wind or that the demon had found us again. Sam appeared to be asleep as I tiptoed to the window. Careful not to break the salt lines, I drew the curtain back to look out at the parking lot.

Nothing. Everything seemed peaceful. Looks are deceiving. You'd think I'd know that by now. I should. I ought to expect the unexpected.

"No," Sam's voice makes me freeze. The anguish of it and the way he thrashes in the tangled sheet catches me off guard. "Stop. Stop! You're hurting her! We're hurting her."

My breath catches. What does he mean hurting me? When I find my feet, I move cautiously to the side of the bed. I know he sleeps with a weapon and that he startles easily. I don't want to make this worse.

"Sam?" It's a whisper. Quiet, too quiet. My heart beats wildly in my chest as training kicks in and I start to reach for him. "Sam, it's okay. I'm okay. You're dreaming."

He's burning up. Heat pours off of him. I can feel it before my hand brushes his jaw. It concerns me that he doesn't wake up, either from the words or a soft touch.

Getting to work, I hit the bathroom and run cool water in the sink. A wet washcloth, the Tylenol from my purse and a leftover bottle of water from the car gathered into trembling hands, I rush back to Sam's bedside. In the pale glow of the bathroom light, his face twists in agony and his hands fist in the sheets.

"Shh..." I try to comfort him, tears clouding my vision as I swipe the cool cloth over his brow. "I'm here. I'm right here."

Sam seems to settle. His face and hands relax, but he doesn't awaken. I sit on the bed next to him and press the back of one hand to his forehead as the other curls around his wrist to take his pulse.

I'm scared. It's just him and me in this little motel room and he seems sick. He's all that stands between me and the demon.

My eyes close to stem the flow of more tears. Panic wells in my chest and I'm debating calling Sam's brother when it happens. His hand closes around my neck and his mouth finds mine.

This isn't the man I was kissing a few hours ago. Suddenly I'm beneath him and pinned to the mattress. I can't move the way he's on top of me. He's too big and too hot.

"Sam," I whimper against his mouth when he comes up for air. His hand tightens a fraction on my neck and I can almost hear the words he said to me the first time we were together.

Come on, Halley. You know you want it.

And I do. God help me, I want Sam Winchester. But not like this.

"Sam, please," I plead. I can taste the salt of my tears on our mouths. "You're hurting me."

I don't blame him for this. I'm not sure what's going on but I know he's not awake. He likely isn't anymore aware of what's happening than I am.

Taking a chance, I shift as much as I can in the hope of grounding him and bringing him back to me. Our bodies align and his breath hitches the same way it did earlier. His hand leaves my neck and curls into hair. When his mouth softens on mine and my fingers smooth down his back, I hum softly.

"Halley?" His eyes flutter open and he blinks down at me in shock and confusion. Pushing off of me, Sam stumbles away and backs against the wall. His mouth opens and closes, his hand pulling through his hair. "What happened?"

Pulling the sheet around me, I shiver at the loss of Sam's warmth. I swallow, feeling guilty for what I'd done even though it brought him out of the state he was in. "I..." my lips press together and I brush my fingers over them. Kiss swollen and damp. Taking a breath, I start again. "You were dreaming. I tried to wake you."

Sam is beating himself up. I thought he'd be angry with me, but he can't get past what's eating him alive. "You were burning up, so I..." Flipping on the lamp, I let him see the water and bottle of pills before reaching to take the damp cloth from the pillow. "I tried to help."

Without thought, I wipe my eyes and his hand covers his mouth. His chin trembles and he looks like he might cry, too. "You weren't awake, this isn't your fault. I'm fine."

"Dammit, Halley," he growls. The walls go back up and the mask slides back into place. Vulnerability? What's that? The hunter is back. And the man? The man I'm caring more for with each minute that passes disappears. "I'm supposed to be protecting you."

"I'm not afraid of you, don't you get that?" I may've been scared for a few minutes - worried about what he'd do without realizing it - but I worked through it. I learned a valuable lesson for dealing with him if it happened again.

The closer I get to him, the further he pulls away. "I'll call Dean and get one of them out here by tomorrow. This was a bad idea."

I get up, my chin jutting defiantly as I cross my arms over my chest. "No."

Clearly Sam thinks he heard me wrong from the look on his face. "What do you mean no?"

He's pushed me to the point where I crowd him and get in his face. "Exactly what it sounds like. No." I dare to push him, hoping he'll react and we can break the tension suffocating us. "I don't want Dean or Jo. I want you, Sam. I trust you."

"Yeah, well you shouldn't." He brushes by me and grabs for a shirt and pants.

"I do, so deal with it." Were we really fighting about this? Sam dresses in jerky movements and I feel deflated. I won't beg him to stay. I can't. "Where are you going?"

"The car. I'll call Dean and keep watch. It's safer that way."

"Safer?" I abandoned my home and everything I knew to come on the road because it was safer. And now he wants to take the only thing that makes me feel safe away? "Why do you get to decide? Why do you get to tell me how I feel?"

He's standing at the door and he doesn't look back. His hand on the knob, he lowers his head and his voice drops to almost a whisper. "Because I know what it's like to lose someone and I already know I'd never forgive myself if something happened to you."

My heart leaps only to smash on the floor when he closes the door and leaves me alone in the room. I'm not sure what to do, but I know I have to head him off. Dialing Jo's number, I pray the blonde will answer.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry..." I don't bother holding back the emotion. I'm not sure I even could. "I need to talk. It's about Sam."